


Invisible Men

by roebling



Category: K-Drama RPS, K-Movie RPS
Genre: Biting, Blowjobs, Body Image, Bruising, Eating Disorders, M/M, No Breathing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:45:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1528460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not so much that Inguk likes people -- although he is gregarious by nature. He just understands the value of making people like <i>you</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invisible Men

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh this is just a short, un-betaed little something I thought up from an ask.fm prompt. There is mention of (but not explicit discussion of) disordered eating in relation to weight loss for a film role. Please let me know if you need more detail about that. There is also very little in the way of plot.

"It's so nice to meet you," Yuri says, and she smiles an impersonal, perfect smile.

"Likewise," Inguk says. "I've been a fan for so long." He smiles a smile he hopes is charming. He suspects it is. He's practiced it often enough.

"I'll have to give you an autograph then," she says, still cool and distant but -- he can clearly see -- flattered in spite of herself.

"I'd like that," he says, grinning and ducking his head, feigning bashful pleasure.

She grins too, a warm, nearly-real smile that almost reaches her eyes, and it almost seems like she’s about to say more, but then one of her hovering assistants comes over and spirits her away.

Inguk rolls his eyes. It's not so much that he likes people -- although he is gregarious by nature. He just understands the value of making people like _you_. One might say that he's even made a whole career of it. When he won, the case was made (not entirely without basis) that the only reason he beat Moongeun is because all the moms and aunties thought he was cute.

Someone is watching him. Jongsuk is watching him, from where he sits at the end of the long table with his script in hand. One long finger marks his place. He's been watching the whole exchange. There is a bemused, superior expression on his face. 

Their eyes meet. Inguk stares back, bland and friendly. 

Jongsuk smirks and rolls his eyes. He turns his attention back to his script, like he’s seen all that he needs to see. 

Fine. That's how it's going to be then.

*****

"He's kind of a snob," a friend in common tells Inguk. "A good guy, but just a little bit of a snob. He thinks he's a real actor."

Inguk takes a long sip of his beer (strictly forbidden under the draconian rules of his diet, but it's a Saturday night and he'll make up for it by going in an half an hour early for practice tomorrow). 

"Hmm," he says. "Probably not too happy about having to work with me then."

His friend laughs and slaps Inguk on the back. "No, probably not."

*****

The first day of filming at the pool is a little weirder than he thought it would be. The pool itself -- the flickering blue light, the chlorine reek, the too-tight, too-revealing swimsuits -- is familiar enough by now. He's standing at the edge of the pool with Minchul and Jaeyoung drinking a cup of coffee when Jongsuk stalks onto set. They’ve been waiting for him. He's followed everywhere by a pair of bland, anonymous minders. These two look worried now but Jongsuk waves them away and comes to join them standing at the edge of the pool.

(Inguk’s manager has been with him since he first signed with Jellyfish, all those years ago. He thinks -- although he’s never been quite brave enough to ask -- that managing him had been a kind of demotion at the time. If it was, Manager hyung has never complained about it. He sleeps on Inguk's couch sometimes when he's had too much to drink to go home, and praises Inguk once in a while when he needs it. The arrangement works well for both of them. Manager hyung is his best friend.)

Jongsuk strips off his shirt. He is long and slim and pale and he moves gracefully, but he looks no more at ease than Inguk feels.

"Morning, Jongsuk-ah," Jaeyoung says -- he knows Jongsuk from before, some modeling connection that nobody bothered elaborating for Inguk's benefit.

Jongsuk says nothing, just folds his arms and slouches, so he looks even thinner and more palely angular than he is.

They stand around in awkward silence. Minchul makes some inane remark about the early call they have the next morning. Jaeyoung hums in agreement. Inguk is about to add his own meaningless pleasantry to the mix, when he sees, out of the corner of his eye, Jongsuk look him up and down. It is a lingering, deliberate look. 

Jongsuk sees that Inguk sees him looking, and he smirks again.

Well.

 

*****

It’s weird that he likes acting. It’s even weirder that he’s good at it. As a kid he just wanted to sing; he didn’t really care about an audience per se. When he auditioned for Superstar K the cameras and the gimmicky faux-drama that the production crew instigated were just something to be endured, the price he had to pay for not being good enough to make it on his own merits. 

There were so many problems and difficulties and roadblocks thrown up by the reality of his own, deeply flawed life that he never really considered what it might be like to be someone else. When he was given a chance, it was just as the joke-y sidekick, because they needed someone to sing and play guitar. That’s fine. He liked it, surprisingly. Nobody was more surprised than he was. Liked even hiding under the extra weight and the bad perm and the glasses. It was a relief, to sink into Changmo and forget that there was ever anyone named Inguk.

His role on Love Rain got extended, and he started to look around for other opportunities. Someone told him about a drama that was desperate for actors who could pull off Gyeongsangdo satoori and … 

The events that transpired seem even to him to have the kind of surreal, predetermined air of a montage sequence in a drama -- reality flop makes good! Now he’s here, sitting next to Yuri from Girls Generation, feeling all chewed up inside over some grief that isn’t even his. Except that he is Wonil and it is his grief, and he’s glad for the excuse just to feel anything honestly and without shame. 

The director calls cut. Inguk swallows. His throat is dry. He has a lot of lines in this scene. Someone hands him a bottle of water. He drinks long and wipes his mouth, and when he looks up he finds that Jongsuk is watching him again, with careful, considering eyes. 

*****

"Here."

Someone -- Jongsuk -- presses something cold against his hand. It's an iced coffee.

"Thanks," Inguk says, staring down.

Jongsuk rolls his eyes. "I'm being the obedient maknae."

"Yuri's younger than you."

"Yeah," Jongsuk says. "But she's SoShi."

In spite of himself, Inguk laughs.

Jongsuk doesn't quite laugh, but he does smile, giddy and bright, before he tamps it down.

*****

Inguk is a physical guy. He likes slapping people on the back, and shaking hands, and hugging, and kissing. He likes touching. That’s something real, something concrete.

He's surprised when he realizes that Jongsuk does too. It takes a while, because Jongsuk is so good at folding himself up into tight little knots and so pointedly not touching anyone. It takes Inguk a little while to realize that he bestows his touches like a monarch bestowing favor. 

It happens in the pool. They're wet and cold and dripping, and Inguk wraps his arms around himself.

He nearly topples face first into the water when a not-inconsequential weight presses against his shoulders.

Jongsuk's boney fingers dig into his skin. "Hyungggggg," he whines.

"What?" Inguk laughs. "What?"

The weight eases. Inguk stands up straight.

"Nothing," Jongsuk says.

Inguk slides an arm around Jongsuk's shoulder, pulling him close. "If we come down with pneumonia, maybe they'll write that into the script."

The frequent, pointless re-writes are a point of ire for all of them.

"I am looking for a melodrama for my next project," Jongsuk says, deadpan. He keeps his straight face until the very end, when he cracks a wry, raw smile. 

Inguk tugs him close for a second, shoulder to shoulder, Jongsuk’s smooth side pressed against his, and then the A.D. calls for both of them and he steps away. 

*****

They're filming the rooftop barbeque scene. The inside of Inguk's mouth is slick and stale with the taste of the samgyupsal he has to eat -- take after take. He thought it would be great

The gaffer is directing his crew as they put up additional spotlights. The afternoon sky has clouded over, and the director is worried the difference will be too noticeable.

Inguk sips a bottle of water. It's hot, and he's tired, but those two conditions have been pretty constant for the past several weeks of filming.

One of the assistant directors comes over to give Inguk instruction on the next scene. "Remember, you've loved her for a long time," he says.

Inguk nods. "Yes," he says. "I know."

"You love her and you think she loves Woosang and you don't know what you're going to do."

"I got it," Inguk says, and he does. His love life isn't much to speak of, and he's fine with that, but he knows a thing or two about unfulfilled longing.

Even now, standing in the sun filming for his first movie -- a movie where he is, improbably, the lead -- he feels a strange, tugging pain in his chest, below where he thinks his heart might be, that this is good and all but there's something heavy hanging overhead, some ominous premonition that he can't shake and doesn't really understand.

There's a sharp, quick, pain in his shoulder. Jongsuk bites down, hard.

Inguk startles.

Jongsuk steps back, eyes wide ... like he's waiting for something or watching for some sign.

"Sorry," he says. "You looked like you needed that."

Inguk laughs. "Maybe I did," he says. "I was just surprised."

*****

The joke in the movie is that Wonil has a small dick, but Inguk doesn't really need any reassuring on that particular matter.

Jongsuk is on his knees and his hands are wrapped around the back of Inguk's thighs. His teeth scrape over the flat of Inguk's pelvic muscle.

"Hey!" Inguk looks down. "Be careful."

"Right, right," Jongsuk says, distracted. "I know. 'What would the makeup artist think?'"

Jongsuk's tone is mocking, but the concern is legitimate. It's not so easy to explain why you need to cover a mouth-shaped bruise low, low on your belly.

"Afterward," Inguk says. "When we're done filming."

Jongsuk nods, apparently satisfied.

"Hurry up now, though," Inguk says, "if you want me to have time to suck you off."

*****

They compliment each other and denigrate themselves in interviews. Part of it is for show, but the larger part -- at least for Inguk and he suspects for Jongsuk as well -- is sincere. He does feel awkward next to the slim, graceful pale model body: thick and coarse and unrefined in a way that doesn't actually have all that much to do with the way he looks. It's just the way he's always felt, deep down, from the day he arrived on the stupid bus from Ulsan, poor and countrified and with no real particular hope either of those things would change.

And he even understands why Jongsuk might feel the way he claims to. Maybe. He's skeptical, but he thinks he understands when he sees the way the stylists and assistants coo over him, treat him like a kid brother and a little doll and even the way he plays up to their fussy coddling.

The movie premiers. There are favorable reviews but it doesn't do as well as hoped; not nearly. Inguk takes that as a personal lesson: Don't let people expect too much of you. 

He does most of the press with Jaeyoung and Minchul. Jongsuk is already filming another movie. Inguk's had offers too -- he's not going to pretend he hasn't -- but he feels like he's been working too hard for a very long time, and he wants to rest a little now.

He's got contractual obligations to fulfill too, in Japan.

Jongsuk makes it out for one theater greeting, looking tired and slightly anachronistic in his 80s haircut. He's quiet as they stand in front of theater, quiet as they watch the film. It's strange, seeing all those long weeks of standing around and waiting distilled into 90 minutes of slightly hokey exposition and thrilling sports-movie pool shots. 

He doesn't remember it like that at all.

It’s really not a bad movie, though. There’s nothing wrong with cliche. 

The event is over and Inguk is standing next to Manager hyung, waiting to be told he can leave, when he feels someone tug on his sleeve.

Jongsuk.

"You're free after this."

It's not really a question. He nods.

Jongsuk nods too. "Come on," he said. "You promised me we'd ... go drinking."

That's not exactly the world's most subtle insinuation, but nobody else seems to notice.

*****

Jongsuk's apartment is small and dark and messy; a bachelor's pad not all that different than Inguk's. Inguk takes off his shoes and his coat and Jongsuk gets them two beers from the fridge.

It's autumn and it's cool out, but the cold beer tastes good. They drink sitting quietly on Jongsuk's couch. Inguk is more tired than he should be. Jongsuk plays with the label on his bottle.

"So," Inguk says.

"Hyung, you said I could," Jongsuk says. "After we were done filming." There's a needy, petulant note in his voice. It’s charming.

“Right,” Inguk says slowly, as though he hasn’t known all along where this would lead. “I did say you could.”

“Anything?” Jongsuk’s voice is pleased. He’s smiling like the cat that’s got the cream. 

Inguk downs the rest of his beer in one long swallow. He shrugs. “Sure,” he says. 

He aims to please. 

*****

There’s a red, raw patch on his chest that is going to be purple before the morning.

Jongsuk put it there, sucking and scraping like there was something inside Inguk he could get out if he tried hard enough. 

There’s a matching mark on his belly. (He’d squirmed when Jongsuk bit down on the slight softness. He’s still in good shape, but he’s not in the shape he was in when they were filming. It felt good, though, and Jongsuk didn’t seem to mind in the least.) There’s one on his hip, and on the inside of his right thigh. 

Now Jongsuk is bent over him, _inside him_ , while Inguk holds himself up on his knees and forearms. Jongsuk fucks him hard, without much romantic whitewashing of the essentially athletic, animal nature of the act. Inguk’s insides feel churned up and he even feels a little queasy, but it’s not a bad feeling. The sweat on his forehead runs down into his eyes and stings, salty. Jongsuk’s teeth sink hard into the skin over his shoulder blade. Sharp. Demanding. 

It hurts. He likes it. 

Jongsuk comes in a series of quiet, intense shudders. Inguk presses back into him and jerks himself off. The skin on his forearms and his chest tingles. He can’t stop himself from moaning a little as he comes. Boneless, he flops onto the bed. Then after a moment he rolls onto the back and takes off the condom (neater, Jongsuk had said as he handed him one, and there was no arguing with that) and knots it. 

Jongsuk is lying boneless beside him. He takes off his condom too. There are very fine, very dark hairs on the inside of his thighs and on his dick and on his sack. Inguk wouldn’t mind sucking him off, if they had time, and if Jongsuk were so inclined. 

“I have an early call tomorrow,” Jongsuk says. 

Ah, so that’s how it’s going to be. Inguk sits up. 

“ … but I didn’t mean that you have to go quite yet,” he adds, lamely recovering. 

In spite of everything, he is just twenty two. He’s not the old hand at this that he seems.

“Hmmmm,” Inguk says. He prods the dark red mark on his chest. It hurts. It feels good. “You really like marking people up, huh?” 

He’s not known for his subtlety. 

Jongsuk shrugs, shadowed eyes and enigmatic expression. “You never know who I’ll be the next time I see you. Or who you’ll be the next time I see you.” He puts his hand on Inguk’s chest, runs it down his stomach, presses the tip of his finger into the ruby red bruise on his hip. “Still the same skin, though.” 

Inguk is not sure if this is a pretentious commentary on acting, or if Jongsuk’s wisdom is deeper than he can comprehend. 

(It’s not even true, Inguk learns later. Skin renews itself every thirty months. It took him longer the first time, but now that schedule seems like it might work.) 

“Ah,” he says, leaning back. He waits a minute. “I was gonna think of something clever to say, but I kind of just want to suck you off. One last time, for old time’s sake.” 

Jongsuk rolls his eyes, like he’s thinking ‘who is this idiot?’ but he doesn’t protest when Inguk leans down to bite hard on the pale, flat crest of Jongsuk’s hip. Inguk leaves a mark of his own there, dark red where his teeth press in. 

It’s not much, and it will fade, but it’s there: vivid and dark and painful, judging by the way Jongsuk squirms when Inguk presses down to keep his hips still. It’s real, or as close as these things get.


End file.
